


Growing Cold

by Laylah



Category: Vagrant Story
Genre: Dark Magic, Gen, Paranoia, Zombification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23884276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: They stop some ten paces ahead and look back. "Hurry," Commander Neesa says sharply. "We must have you away from this cursed place before it can treat your soul as savagely as it has your body."
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: Minigame: Round 1





	Growing Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CorpseBrigadier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorpseBrigadier/gifts).



The others refuse to go underground. The open stone mouths of tunnels and cellars call to Grissom, welcoming him with the promise of cool, damp comfort, with the promise of Dark—

No. Wait. Offers like that are temptation, the work of the Enemy. They all learned that as novices. Is that why Commander Neesa and Tieger are ignoring them so completely? Such staunch faith, even in Lea Monde as the shadows grow long.

They stop some ten paces ahead and look back. "Hurry," Commander Neesa says sharply. "We must have you away from this cursed place before it can treat your soul as savagely as it has your body."

_Your body, your body, your body..._ The words echo and Grissom stumbles. They mean to steal his—if he doesn't defend himself, they—he digs his fingers into his forearms, the way he used to when he was, before he was here, but the pain doesn't come the way it should. He curses the failings of his flesh but his tongue is leaden in his mouth and the words come out a bitter moan.

"Here, now, hold it together." Tieger, close by; he's backtracked to where Grissom leans against a stone wall, confused and cold. "You can make it a little further, aye?" His hand settles on Grissom's shoulder and Grissom shudders hard. It's so warm. That warmth would feel so good wrapped around the shivering core of him. To split open warm flesh and find the safe place inside, behind the bulwark of bones, cradled in the soft embrace of entrails, to find a place where he could rest without feeling so besieged—

His frustration issues from his throat as a low, animal cry. There is more warmth at his other side. The commander, tipping his face up so that he will look into her face and see the proud arch of strong bone and the soft wet jewels of eyes lit with the soul's fire. They would lose that fire so quickly should they come unmoored from their safe haven.

"We won't give you up," Commander Neesa says. "We will see you safely from this damned city and the Cardinal will save your soul. Pray with us that you might have the fortitude to last that long."

They take his hands. They will tear him—no, this is a rite, Grissom knows it, has performed it himself. He mistrusts his sluggard tongue but he can hold the words in his mind as his comrades pray. Their touch offers solace. He remembers the firm rightness of oratory, the way faith armored his heart and lightened his steps, and oh, how he would welcome that now.

The power comes, raising him up, and it comes blossoming straight from Lea Monde's foul heart. It comes from the Dark.

Grissom screams, tearing free of the others' grip, swiping at them to try to drive them off since he cannot warn them with words. The pestilent sorcery of this place is beyond their ability to tame.

They retreat but do not flee. "Fight it, Grissom!" Tieger calls. "Remember yourself!"

"Follow us!" Neesa orders. "We have not given up on you!"

Grissom stumbles forward, grateful for their faith and their pure hearts. They can't understand him now but no matter. This is close enough. He could follow them now with his eyes gouged out and his eardrums punctured. He could follow the taste of their breath and the heat of the blood in their veins. He's so cold. The shadows creep further across the roads and soon the Dark will swallow all of this. He must focus.

The flesh he wears is so clumsy. It's too cold. The limbs are too slow to move. Still he can follow. Do they lure him somewhere? Will they take even this impoverished flesh from him? Such cruelty, when their hearts still beat and their hands were so warm.

He can't let them. He can't go meekly to his destruction. He's cold and he's hungry but he _is_ , and he won't let them take that away. He keeps walking. The soldiers keep walking too. Slowly so he can keep up.

They go underground at last, down into the cellar of a dead and rotting building. They're going somewhere in particular. He should know where it is. He knows where this tunnel leads. Doesn't he? He's been here before. It's not simply the Dark settling like a cloak over his body. It's not only the smells of wax and rotting paper. He follows.

He has almost reached an important place, and his quarry with him. Then the earth buckles and shakes as the Dark bursts outward from the center, behind him. Stones crumble. Beams fall.

The soldiers stop, yelling at each other. The words are too fast and tangled to have meaning. The man draws a sword. The woman flees. The Dark leaps in him and he wants to chase, but the man gets in the way. The sword is dangerous. He is dangerous too. The man's teeth are bared. The Dark is in him, cold and sharp.

He lunges.


End file.
